Emotional disordered Ghost diary
by wendela
Summary: PotO, Completely Leroux-based. Erik's thoughts,Erik's dreams...Erik's anger, despair,hate,agony,fear. But above all, Erik's love. It's a bit psychotic and philosophical
1. Default Chapter

**A/N: My first fanfic. I was listening to Mozart's Requiem while writing this. The dark, gloomy, yet joyful mood this music brought up ― you might be able to trace this back in the words.**

**Enjoy reading. Disclaimer: I do not own the characters; credits go, in this case, completely to Gaston Leroux.**

There's no truth in sight; images always lie. They show something different from whatever angle you look at them. Music is truthful. When I sing, do I promise to be good or please everyone around? No. I promise nothing. I just sing.

I - The curse of this existance!

_Whirl, whirl around in the dark she did. At the stage last night. Dancing, and singing, oh, singing, how she sang! By the sight of her, a sharpened knife pierced my throat as far as the blade would go. My heartbeat…I did not even know of the existence of my heart and now it is suddenly demanding my constant attention! It beats so much, it hurts…it hurts! The memory of that face, the voice… it hurts!_

_I could hardly walk to my lair, in desire of peaceful silence, more stumbling, tripping over my own feet. Had I ever tripped before? I was never this clumsy. Hold the wall, cold stone, to come back to reality. Breathe! Her voice constantly ringing in my ears like a tower bell, her name dancing in my head, and this strange new feeling is running through my veins like some injected poison._

She was walking through the mirrors, and they didn't even reflect her! Oh, they don't have the power to reflect her, to catch her in their cursed web. There was only her - and the blank glas.

And me, unseen. If she could ever look upon me… Hell is not a place. It's an obsession with a name, a face, a voice.

The curse of reflection ….

The mirrors. The mirrors...

Is it good that I have power over reflecting glass? I can't even tell the difference between good and evil! God, who am I to know what is good and what is not? Is it good that I still live?

Is it good to see my reflection in a mirror?

Ah, mirrors... One of the most devlish inventions of he human mind. Nobody in the world knows their real gist, nobody but Erik. And what is that gist? Ah, that gist is in the fact that mirrors seem to tell the truth, but really they always lie! And the most terrible thing in all this is that the truth is caught in those lies, like a moth in a spider's web.

Just last night I had a dream about those bloody mirrors. The damn things whirled around me, taunted me, and laughed at me! At me, who had curbed them once!

I know, the Sultan of Mazenderan has never guessed the real reason for the creation of the Palace of Illusions. Well, he never thought of things like that. He got what he liked, and that was that. And every innocent girl, admiring herself in a mirror, becomes a victim of that terrible spider web, not knowing that her soul is already in its unseen threads. No one is free. No one - but me. And that is why it was me who invented the Palace of Illusions, because only I could see the source of the real power of mirrors and master it.

If I could only look in a mirror myself!

This strange new feeling makes me a stranger to myself. I cupped the rose, meant for her… just one single rose. Her picture makes for a blurry image in front of my eyes all the time now. Perhaps it would be enough, just satisfactory, to let her know there's someone who has her name in his mind.

That great mirror in her dressing room. I did want to break it last night, but she appeared, and I fell back. No, she is not flawless... she can cry. Godesses don't cry, and humans have their reflections in mirrors. Oh, her tears! Every tear was a torture in my heart. She was crying, sitting in front of the damn glass, and it must have been reflecting her disheveled golden hair on her table.

And I began to sing. No more than my voice I can give her. If only I could give my arms in an embrace around her and a shoulder for her to cry on. But what if I gave her an angel so she will stop crying. Yes, she will. My voice will make her beautiful, bright, enlightened, unreflected by mirrors again.

Only that reflection, in that damn, big, mockering mirror.

It's the only mirror that has power over her perfection and that's why it will take her to me. She goes through the mirrors, and they don't reflect her anymore. She goes through them every day and doesn't even notice. Any other person would have gotten tangled in all those reflections, but there aren't any of her, so she is free to sing to me.

I lift up my arms to reach her, but the damn glass makes me stop. This thin mirror between us, and she doesn't even realize I am right beside her! How I long to feel her curls between my fingers… her skin… no. Don't think such things. They'll kill you.

I return to my darkness in solitude. No arms to embrace me ever. The smile she had on her face today when she heard my voice should be enough. Yes, what a kingly gift that was! Oh my angel!


	2. the Unseen Angel

**A/N: I was tortured by a pounding headache, my mind under the influence of strong sedatives while writing this. But it rather helped to throw out all the hate, anger, despair and agony needed for this chapter. My mind is a dark cavern right now… the floor of a dark basement. Haha. Now, let's read and enjoy, shall we?**

The Unseen Angel

I enjoy singing, unseen, how thrilling it is for me! Even when I was killing in the arena in Mazenderan or in some Persian labyrinth... I have never been this happy. My music runs through my veins, my voice lives and gives life to me, my soul trembles and unfurls itself; my body contorts out of pleasure, because everything I want to pass to her returns to me and ignites my body as I want to ignite hers.

A requiem unwraps itself in my mind. A requiem for this doomed love. Half-gloomy, I throw my head up in delight to let the music come out. What a joy it is to sing for her!

Oh, her eyes, glittering, filled with tears of joy and hope! She can't discern truth from lies, but who would say she should? She must never see the ugliness of truth. Oh, Christine, why are you not blind? You could see better if you were... Maybe then you would see me... Sight can tell anyone its revelations poisoned by lies.

When we plunge into darkness… In darkness sight is bereft of power… In darkness everyone is blind.

_Except me._

The image of her face… I didn't dream about the mirrors anymore. I dreamt about her instead. She seemed to be saying "_Come, Erik, come to me_", her arms stretched out to me. In a dance of white silk and lace, flowers in her hair, she moved around me. Oh, what a mockering lie that dream was! It was far worse than my usual nightmares… beacuse it was a lie. One big, horrible castle in the air, chrashing on top of my head. Like a giant chandelier of crystal and light can bring blood, death and destruction to an audience when it chrashes down. I awoke panting, breathing hurt.

I keep telling myself I can stop whenever I want. Just don't return to the mirror. May this sweet dream keep going for both of us, I can make it stop it whenever I want…

Darkness is punishment for the lying sight; thank God there's no darkness for a voice. I always relied on my vocal powers. I am my voice; I'm the unseen Angel.

Angel of Music!

It was she who called me so. She had always been shy before, but some days ago she dared to ask, at last:

_"You are the Angel of Music sent by my father, aren't you?"_

For a moment I believed that sound was as mendacious as sight.

And then I understood there was no lie.

If I can never be a living man she can look upon when she awakes in the morning, if I have no face to be reflected by a mirror, if I have no body to feel the hot pleasures of life or the haunting pain, if I'm only a voice to her, who am I, if not an angel?

I was not lying when I told her "_Yes_".

"_But I keep telling myself I can stop whenever I want. Just don't return to the mirror. May this sweet dream keep going for both of us, I can make it stop whenever I want"_…and now I realize that is a lie too. I can't stop this, my desire for her would kill me.

Those who don't tell lies are always punished in the end!

_That boy... _

Certainly - how foolish I was! I saw her unrefleced by those dirty mirrors and forgot that human eyes were not mirrors. They see her and admire her. I'm only a voice; she has the body and the and the face of a goddess. Her body has its own needs, her face shows them; the poor incorporeal Angel can satisfy only her soul. Her innocence is a treasure.

Oh, how happy she was, when she was telling me about her childhood friend's arrival!

I think she believed I would share her delight…

I didn't. I scratched my nails along the back of the mirror in guilty misery.

Oh, no, I'm not an angel at all! Angels do not feel such misery, angels do not weep in the darkness of despair. Angels do not know of self-loathing.

Damn that vicomte! A gorgeous human shell, what else to say. Is there anything inside? Who knows. That handsome shell hides everything but itself.

Sight and light always lie.

But she looks at him with appreciation, he looks at her with adoration.

And I look at the mirror. Jealous! I am jealous! I grind my teeth in hate and anger.

She needs someone with a reflection. Someone whose adoring eyes she could see, whose hand would hold her, whose body would feel her divine form with pleasure. She has no need for an Angel... she needs a man.

Am I a man yet?

Erik, you know the answer to that perfectly well! And if not, if you happen to have forgotten it, take the mirror and look into it! And see once more the hideous truth... so hideous it couldn't be the truth.

I am not a monster! I don't want to be one!

And suddenly I begin to laugh, from the bottom of my lungs. Ha, that empty shell and I, together we would be the perfect lover for her! His appearance and youth, my mind and voice! What an irresistable man we would be, haha! But this laughter ends soon, leaving me in despair again.

Would she even care what's behind his appearance? Or what is in my mind?

Christine, don't look at my face... It shows you nothing... Christine, I have hands which crave holding you, a body that craves sharing its passion with you... I even have lips to whisper your name and caress your face in the night...

If only you were in darkness, Christine...

If only you wouldn't want to see.

If only I was an angel! I would take her up on my wings and bring her to heaven. But I'm only a man. A miserable, lonely man in dispair. That cursed mirror, it seperates her from me! I despise and yet bless it. Still I can't stop my heartbeat. I rip it out and offer it to her through music.

I placed the roses in her dressing room, together with a piece of music I wrote for her. Sweet, intoxicating, gentle music, written while her name was as music in my mind. It was just called 'Christine'… and that music caught in staves…and my name at the bottom. A gentle dream of lovely music between our names! She doesn't need to know it's from her angel, does she? Now she knows my name… but not the name of her angel. Now she knows, there's someone who loves her… even when she will never see the face belonging to that name, just like she will never see her angel.

But back at home, the anger rose again. Don't even ask why I kept a mirror in a locked cabinet. I can master mirrors anywhere, but not in my own house. Look at the mirror, look at the mirror well!

What do you see there, Erik?

Do you think you see yourself? This loathsome gargoyle of hell… balefull!

Look, Erik, look into the mirror. How do you like the monster there? What, do you think she'll kiss you and you'll be turned to a beautiful prince? I haven't even the guts to laugh at this idea.

My face is the greatest lie of all, even my mask is more honest. But what is a mask… but a mask? If I take it off, it's an empty shell, too. Just a piece of fabric. Everyone believes in facial truth. They even have a synonymous expression to 'frank' - 'with an open face'. With my open face no one will believe my frankness...

Oh, how beautiful is the rain of splinters in all that candle light!

Stop, …why candles? Why are there so many candles lit in my home?

I blow them out. All of them. I can see just as well in the dark, can't I?

And then I'm leaving my home to give one more lessons to Christine – as an incorporeal, impassionate, solely spiritual Angel...

Damn it! Damn all the Angels! The mirror crashlanded on the floor, broken like the foreboding of a certain chandelier… chandeliers are just a giant glittering legion of candles, aren't they?


	3. the Triumphs

**A/N: again, all credits go to Gaston Leroux, especially for the conversation, which I took directly from his book. Also, some credits to Susan Kay. Although I meant to make this entirely Leroux-based, I can't deny Kay has had her influence on me. But Erik's thoughts are completely mine. He's very dear to me.**

Who would have thought it possible to be obsessed by counting the strokes of a coarse brush through golden curls? It's a vain and mortal thing, totally unbefitting my interests. But oh! The more I watch her daily little rituals of fashion the more obsessed I become.

Unstrained I creep to the shadows of Box Five. Those fool managers, running my theatre, are too scared to check if the box is in use. Haha! Neither mirrors nor eyes can see me, I'm as unsubstantial as it is possible; I'm a shadow of a shadow; I'm as ghostly as a ghost may be. I am under a spell. I'm weaver of tales, master of magic, demented magician of the Paris Opera house, am under a spell.

In the soft red velvet of box Five, my thoughts float away to the unpleasant surpise I found when I returned home yesterday. The alarm bell was ringing… Joseph Buquet! Yes, that was his name, wasn't it? Just a common scene shiftworker…Joseph Buquet! How on Earth did he manage to find the hidden trap door, shortcut to my home? Perhaps an incident… perhaps he just leaned against the stone to take a break and the mechanism started to work. The poor soul didn't deserve to fall into my eccentric hobby chamber… torture chamber… I was in shock…if he knew how to find my back door, then who else did? I didn't have to deal with it any more than I had to get rid of the body. It was not even necessary to make it look like suicide... it was suicide. No, no, it was not my fault. No… a mere unfortunate accident… yes… The only sin I ever committed was to be born. Still I feel uncomfortable. Suddenly I feel a pang of guilt for the poor man. I hope his death was quick… it must've been… too frightend and confused not to use the gallow in the mirror chamber, he was.

And now my thoughts were so far away, I missed the entire first act of tonight's Faust. I don't want to miss a note of Christine's performance, but she hasn't been on stage yet…

Oh, what a triumph! There was never such a roaring in the Opera. And all this, though nobody knew it, was for this evening, for you, for your divine singing, for your triumph, Christine. When she appeared on stage, I almost jumped from my seat in excitement. She did it, she did it… and her voice seemed to be filled with an unearthly divine light.

_Her_ triumph?

It's _my_ triumph!

She wore the mask for me; it was _I_ who sang tonight. I'm playing with fire!

I could never sing on stage - the stage is just another incarnation of the eternal mirror. There are always eyes around, a legion of eyes. They are hungry for sights, they want to devour their prey. My voice was the voice of darkness - it had nothing to show them. No magical alchemy can transform this beast into a man. And this is no curse with which I am burdened for some past crime.

When I was a young child, a monster came. My mother showed it to me, and I was so scared I screamed, and I cried all night. My hands clasped in fists until it hurt. I was so frightened, and my mother didn't even sit with me as I tried to sleep. But the monster was with me… It is with me still. Everyone sees it… But I can see it only in a mirror. Isn't it magical?

But now it's a different matter. That which I have done… was it teaching her? Why would I teach anybody? What on Earth could I achieve by it? No, it wasn't teaching her; I did something more devoted: I passed my voice onto her. Another form of magic!

She is the prey for the hungry eyes; she sings with my voice! There's nothing in her but my voice! Beware, vicomte – foolish boy – she's for eyes to admire, not for flesh to touch. Mine! She's mine! And here, in the shadows, I'm inspiring her silently. And the hungry-eyed crowd is listening to me thinking they are listening to her. That's the irony of this triumph! Sing for me, my Angel of Music!

She fainted after the performance, and all those hands caught her, held her and carried her to her dressing room. She was semi-conscious, her head resting on some girl's shoulder and all those hands... not mine. Damn, it's not fair! It was me who was to take her into loving arms, to carry her to her bed!

But she lives in the world where mirrors rule, there's no justice to it.  
I shut myself off from the world, content to weave my music and my art and glimpse at the world through a pane of glass. A pleasant web of cobwebs, an ivory tower. But all that I have weaved is torn to shreds and I find myself tangled in my own complicated web. I, the spider, that had tempted numerous helpless flies into my trap, am now the victim. I shall take her to my world!

The decision makes me trembling. I'm mad, I must be mad…but I do not doubt this decision, not even once. I will take her to my world… where no mirror is between us.

_"Christine, it is necessary to love me!"_

Necessary... necessary... it's so wicked and devlish to say to this fragile child. I can feel the blood rush under the soft ever-present velvet crush of my mask. Necessary, yes, like a gulp of air.

_"How can you ask me that, when I sing only to you?" _

For me? She sang only to me? Are my ears lying to me? Not to her precious noble boy? Not to her enthousiastic audience?

Of course she sings to _me_, how else can it be if my voice is in her chest, my guidance in her memory, my passion in her soul? But I never thought she would admit it - that she would be able to comprehend. This is the triumph of the Angel of Music!

_"You're tired, aren't you?" _

She's pale and slightly quivering, flickering with her eyes. It's not easy for a mortal to sing with an angel's voice… no, she did that so naturally… she's still shocked from her fainting. I must take good care for my exquisite Christine, she needs all the care in the world.

_"Oh yes! Tonight I've given you all of my soul and I'm dead."_

My hands fly again to that place just over my heart. Never, ever before, has someone ever said something like that to me! Ironically she has clasped her hands the same way, but never as I do now. Not for me, never for me. For my voice perhaps, and for her angel, and Monsieur the Gorgious Empty Shell, but never for poor Erik. I collapse into the useless pile of bones that I am and lie like a forgotten puppet. My skin settles against the stone and I remove the mask, so I can feel the cold granite against my hot stiffled face.

_"Your soul is beautiful, my child, and I thank you. No emperor ever got such a gift! The angels wept tonight." _

At least, one...

**A/N Well…? I'll update as soon as I can, but your criticism and ideas, or just reviews in general are really appreciated. Thanks for reading!**


	4. an enchantment and a dream

**A/N1: Thanx to ExAstris, who is playing beta for me, and an instant walking dictionary. It's very hard not writing in your native language…. How am I doing till now?**

**A/N2: Until now, this was the hardest chapter to write, I had no inspiration at all. Sorry it's so short!**

**IV – An Enchantment and a Dream**

She told me once about a dream she had repeatedly. She'd been having the dream since she was a child, and now she has it more often than ever. I don't know what it means, but it concerns me. There is something strange in her dream, which attracts my thoughts to it again and again.

_She's standing at the edge of a deep chasm… a ravine. It's blacker than black and so deep she can't see the bottom. She wonders whether there is a bottom at all ― perhaps there isn't. Some distance away there's someone else, only visible from the back, staring into the ravine as well. He doesn't see her. She'll have to stay away from that person ― he's far more dangerous than the deep bottomless abyss ― but she's attracted to him in a strange way. She's compelled to approach him, without her own free will intervening. The person turns around, which reveals his two magnificent angelic golden eyes, shining so bright the rest of the man is hardly visible. His face is of the most angelic whiteness, like virginal snow. But neither his mouth nor his nose is visible. Only his beautiful eyes in an empty face; blank skin replaces the nose and mouth. She sees this only for a second ― for when the man is made aware of her presence and turns around, he slips, and falls into the deep. And she knows it's her fault. She runs to the edge, trying to grab his hands. Before the man falls into the bottomless darkness, she sees a large amount of fear and pain in his golden eyes._

She usually wakes up at this point, always feeling a rush of guilt. She hoped to not wake up one day, to dream on – not to rescue the man, but to jump from the edge after him. For some reason she's very sure that's the right thing to do. I don't understand this ― it's only a dream, isn't it? Why does she care so much about a dream? Why be willing to destroy yourself for a stranger ― even if only in a dream? Still it keeps me thinking.

Corridors, roads, streets, paths… there are many of them. They fork, meet, bend, pass in intricate patterns through the whole wide world, and people don't understand it.

There's a road leading to Perros-Guirec, and she knows the way. The Vicomte doesn't ― but he sees her and just follows. How easy it is to follow perfection of others, to rely on it, not to find one's own way!

She invited her Angel to go with her ― and that bloody Vicomte comes uninvited! He follows her like a weak-willed dog…this haemorrhoid!

That violin ― she remembers it, of course, doesn't she? It enters her dreams, plays in her head when she's praying, it follows her when she's sad or dwelling on her past. Well, I'm showing her that what she calls the past is also an illusion ― the sound of the enchanted violin of your father's is returning to you!

Because love is not an illusion...

He loved you...

I love you...

"The resurrection of Lazarus", the resurrection of the past. The resurrection of lost joy ― you'd gotten used to relying on the music of the one who loved you, so you were lost without it? I shall return to you the music you need to be happy, I shall give you everything you had before and much, much more! Could your Vicomte give you this? No, never! He can only follow you, whining and complaining... Ah, he's here, the little sailor who thinks he's a seasoned mariner who has nothing to be afraid of in a quiet Brettany village? I'll show him he is wrong!

Aha, my dear mariner, it's not so easy for a young man fascinated by a beautiful girl's features to see my face? You're already going to swoon ― here, in the empty nocturnal Brettany church? I'll help you!

And I'm absolutely indifferent to what will become of you.

I overload you with a pile of death!

And then this strange interlude is over ― she returns to her dressing room, to her rehearsals, to her lessons.

I return to my dark corridors, my dark cellars and my solitude.

He returns to his noble family, his youth, his wealth… or whatever it is he is daily surrounded with.

Sadly I've become aware the three of us are now strangely connected. For I can no longer deny his existence and the influence of that existence on me. But with satisfaction I remember my maniacal madman laughter when I threw the skulls to him and made him too scared even to walk back by himself to his rented chambers. He will not even dare come near her again, I'm sure! He fears the wrath of "her angel" too much, haha! And now her soul is mine again.


	5. Disaster, Desire and Deception

**A/N: I'm so sorry for the delay! The usual reason: school, exams… I gave them all of my soul and I'm dead. Now, I wish I could write this with pure music, instead of common words.**

**VI - Disaster, Desire and Deception**

The scarf lies on the chair in front of the dressing table, all forgotten. Her white scarf, the one she always wears… The room is dark and deserted, she went home a long time ago. I could wait for her to return, here, in the dark corridor all night.

Just one click opens the mirror. Two steps let me enter her dressing room for the first time. I've seen this room so often, yet I never trespassed into it. Strange to see it from the other side of the mirror. I notice the room seems smaller from here. I stretch my hand… dare I touch the white wool?… yes, yes, I dare pick it up… She always wears this, her aura is almost still around it. I can't stop myself from pressing it to my face to smell her fragrance. Inhaling deeply… she's never been so close to me. Now, what could I return to my angel for this kingly gift?

I had the ultimatum… if they ignored my angel one more time… the only star at my firmament should be a real star for the public as well! They're trying my patience…

.--.-.-.-.-.-.-..-.-.-

Carlotta was Marguerite again. And seemed to be supported by all those hungry-eyed dwellers of reflections. All right, Messieurs — if you don't have enough sense to see right in front of you in broad daylight, a disaster beyond your imagination will come to pass, and you will have to face the darkness — maybe it will teach you to see!

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

And the great chandelier falls. What a marvelous sound it makes! What an extraordinary view! All those shattering lights, those glass shards… and the screams penetrating my eardrums… how delicious!

It kills the stupid thing they tried to insert instead of Madame Giry... kills Carlotta's triumph... kills everything around those maze dwellers. You didn't know they were so fragile, did you? So now you will have enough problems finding you are really among all these shining shards... but for me it means nothing anymore.

I'm playing "_The Resurrection of Lazarus_" for Christine again.

But Christine falls down in front of the mirror and she's not happy at all. What is it, my angel, my dear, aren't you happy? Carlotta wouldn't dare sing again, the triumph is yours! Why isn't she happy?

"_Take me away from this awful world, Angel, I beg you. I don't want to live here anymore_".

"_Why, dear child, what vexes thee? It hurts me to see you in so much pain_".

"_In don't want to be in a world where things like that accident happen! It was so awful, all the splintered glass all over, the chaos, the panic… and all the blood, all the dead people! I cannot sing because of them; I have to think about them all the time… now I can sing but they are dead!_"

"_These things do happen, Christine. There's nothing you can do about it_".

"_I want to be with you. All of my heart is with you, Angel, I don't want to be here anymore. Please take me with you_".

I collapse to the floor, unable to answer. Such sweet intoxication, those words… I had never dared to dream of those words. She wants to be with me… with me! With Erik! A long silence is stretching between us. I can not answer, my tongue doesn't obey me anymore. Twisted… how I longed to take her with me… yet I dare not. I press my cold flesh to the even colder stone wall, in spite of it not even being cold enough to cool down the fire inside of me.

"_Angel_?"

"…."

"_Angel? Please don't go! I didn't mean to offend you!_"

"…."

She falls to the floor, a crying mass of tears. Anything, anything to make her stop crying! I can't bear seeing her cry!

"_I would do anything for you to come back… please come back, Angel… anything… I can't live without you!_"

It only took one click to open the mirror and take her hand.

.-.-.-.-.-.-..--.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.--.-.-...

I'm a liar in her eyes, an 'angel' with human hands. But then I lifted her up in my arms and she passed out, dear Christine, in my embrace. I press her head to my chest, what a pleasure just to hold her, to deeply inhale the aroma of her hair, her tumbled silky hair over her shoulders; to feel her heartbeat, to sense her soft skin under my cold palm. I carried her to the fountain in my trembling arms, my treasure, a precious flower to behold, the only thing in all the world I can imagine to be important to me. It is worth all the lies she could accuse me of. It is all for her – the lessons, the triumph on the stage, the chandelier, the white horse, the immense number of flowers in the room I had prepared. All for this moment.

Her light breath touches my neck, as she lies in my arms, that soft warm touch. No one has ever touched me with care, no one... I can be here forever, hold her forever. I wish this moment would last forever, hold all the time in front of it. Just this moment…

I bent low over her face, intent on kissing her — oh, how my lips ached! But no, I withdraw… I don't want stolen kisses... Only one real kiss — and I'll be rewarded for everything! Christine, here in the darkness you will see me; if you don't want to see with your eyes — your soul will see me as I am, Christine, and maybe you will bestow a gift of one kiss upon your poor Erik. One kiss… Oh, I know — you fainted at the touch of my hand; here I can't do anything, my hands are almost as loathesome as that thing I cover with my mask — cold, thin... but they can play the music no one has ever heard, perform things no one has ever imagined, they can caress... Oh, how could they caress you, if you only let me do it! No, Christine, I shall not touch you, if you don't want me to...

I try to memorize every line on her face. The shape of her closed eyelids, the way her lips tremble… and then her eyelids flutter… she awakes. And then panic rises. What have I done, my Goth, what have I done? As soon as she sees me, all our dreams are shattered. I can no longer pretend to be an angel. I'm just a man, a man who loves and aches for care and comfort in his loneliness. Forgive my cheating, dear Christine... how else in the world could I approach you? Believe me when I tell you, I had reasons to act this way... Don't be angry with me, please... I love you, Christine, does that mean nothing?


	6. Fading Angel

The boat is rocking slowly on the water. The lake is black, I'm rowing, and you're in the boat, not looking at me, but at the same time staring. And I stare back. Well, Christine, don't look at me, if you don't want to — here sight means nothing. There're no nasty mirrors here except those submitted to me. But they are not for you.

Random memories pop up in my mind, like those bubbles when the oars of the boat disturb the surface of the water. A woman who fainted by the sight of my cage, so many years ago. The memories are as old, as faded and as grey as she was. I do not even dare think what the precious girl in front of me would do if she ever… push away the bubbles, Erik… Row, just row.

And then the memory of the streetwalker I chose, just once, just to know what it was like. The chamber had been darkened, but she was not even able to bear the touch of my cold flesh. Screaming while she had not even set a look upon my countenance. The girl facing me now, would not ever be capable of even a touch of my hand… if I ever dare touch her. And I begin to despair, more and more… what have I done, what, to bring her down here? All she does is stare at me, out of curiosity. Unaware of the helpless thoughts circling behind the mask. Like a fly in the spider's web I am trapped in her gazing blue eyes. All I can do is row. And stare, to drink in all her beauty with my own eyes. She's so close to me… and just sits there. Why doesn't she jump into the water in order to escape? But the water only rocks slowly against the boat…

No, not ever to be trapped again, not ever to be caught and imprisoned! She has power over me, even now, whilst she doesn't even realize it. With those heavenly blue eyes, holding me in her own strange force. Gain back the power, gain it back, Erik… and I begin to sing.

Someting strange happens to her eyes as I start. It's the strange look she had when I was behind her mirror. They get a glow in them. Why can't I figure out what it is? It's not fear, not love, and not curiosity. It almost seems like it's… _desire_. I push _this_ thought away as well. You are bewitched, dear child, by the power of mine, of the one who is creator of this entire world and of everything that belongs to it, including you. My power over you is growing stronger every minute, I can feel it, but it's not the power I really want to have over you. Come, dear love, to my solitary abode, enter it, and let love and music cherish you here as no one's cherished you yet and no one ever will.

I sing whilst I offer her my gloved hand and lead the queen into her kingdom. I can't stop singing now, drunk of my own voice… she's hypnotised, willing to take this hand and be guided. I fear the spell breaks by the sight of flowers, all the candles, the room I prepared for her. Is it too strange, dear child, to find a drawing room such a long distance underground… six feet under? But it doesn't… she's mesmerised still. I weave a cobweb of magic in her ears.

I'm the voice! I go on singing to set her at ease.

But the voice is weaker now. Let me sing for you, Christine, let me sing with all my soul, for I live, breathe and sing only for you. I see realisation in her eyes, recognition and… fright?

"_I love you",_ I sing.

"_I love you. And my name is Erik"._

"_Erik…_" she whispers, her hand stretching out to touch the mask. In fear I shrink back.

"_No, don't ever touch that mask again if your life is dear to you!"_ I growl, I shout. And the music stops. The voice stops, all too suddenly. We both fall, tumbling back to reality. Now it's her turn to shrink back, by the hoarse sound of my voice. And the whole irony of this lunacy comes thundering over me, like a flash of lightning. Realisation of what I have done, too. Mocking me, forcing me to my knees. Behold — I'm kneeling down to her feet. And I begin to cry…. Begging for her forgiveness. _"Forgiveness for what?"_ a little voice inside me says. _"For giving her an angel? For not denying her what she prayed for?"_ But the tears won't stop coming down from under the mask, on her feet.

"_Its true, Christine… there's no voice, no angel… only Erik". _

She turns away and begins to run around the room in circles, much to my surprise. She hammers her fists against the walls, begging for freedom, and she doesn't dare look at me again. The wave of panic she's in will also drown me, if I don't stop this now. And I realise how silly this all must look. A masked man, weeping on the floor, a girl running in circles around him. A parodical circus performance by clowns, trapped in a tragedy by accident. To make her calm I must restore my power over her, musn't I?

By the sound of my voice the magic and music spells also restart. Slowly she turns around all too willing to be enchanted again. Pretending it's a dream as not to fall in the nightmare again? Or does she still not understand the connection between the voice and the mask? Wishing her angel will save her from the shadow in front of her? It seems hour after hour passes by as I sing and go on singing… maybe only five minutes passed in reality?

_"Erik"_, she whispers again. When I realise what she said, I almost trip over my own voice. My name as a replacement for 'angel'? She nestles in a chair and listens… just listens… but doesn't look at me. I don't care, she doesn't need to. Listen to Erik, precious beauty, he will sing the heavens down for you, if you wish it.

And my voice makes a warm blanket of music, rocking her to sleep, so I can hold her in my arms once more.

But when her head falls against my shoulder I realise this isn't what I want. I want her alive, awake. All of her! When she sleeps, she can never be completely mine. Although the weight of her body in my arms is a wish fulfilled in itself, I can only carry her to a room and lay her down on a bed. Down on my knees again, to look at her. Just to look at her in her sleeping form, to play with my hands through her hair, all night, all my life… But I already wish she was awake again. So she'll be here again, with me. And I wonder where she is now… when she will return… So the waiting begins. I can't bear to wait, the impatient man I am, I can't endure looking at her much longer without awaking this strange desire from within me. It needs to be pushed away quickly, she's much more than that, much more… All my veins scream for her. And I leave the room.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

I really must answer some reviews now, musn't I?

**Sinjah:** well, that's what I tried to reach, didn't I, to make it sound just like Erik ;-)

**Random-Battlecry:** The first _phan-_phic, yes, and the very first I do in English. But indeed not the first story I wrote. I wrote several short fantasies, and one long novel in 12 chapters. But those are in Dutch.

**Nota Lone:** Did thinking about shattering chandeliers ever bode well? Especially when the thinking is done by an Erik … ;-)

**Marie Erikson:** I changed the review-options, thanx for noticing me. Don't praise me for my skills in English, all the thanx should go to Ex Astris, my dear beta and walking dictionary. I love your story as well, it's one of the better ones here. And so lovely jummy loooooong…like a never ending chocolate cake

**Ripper de la Blackstaff:** no, sorry, never heard of it. Why should I have to read it? and a link perhaps…?

**Ally:** your review made me squeek and do a little jump from my chair. Such reviews make a writer happy.

**No One Mourns the Wicked:** I hope you find some time to read the rest of it, I'd really like to know your opinion as a Leroux-based-FF-writer.

**Angelofjoy:** good luck with the hackers… hope you come over it soon and find the spirit to write again.

**Di: ** the fact your not begging "please please write more" every time I speak to you, should I consider that as patience or something worse? ;-) No, just joking… hopefully this chapter filled up a bit your never-ending hunger to more PotO-material

Also thanx to EternallyEC and Moonjava


	7. when Lies become Truth

**A/N: I haven't written here for ****three years. Graduating ****at one uni****, getting my first job, starting a new ****uni course**** and moving ****three**** times in ****three**** years all took it's toll. So my sincere apologies for everyone who expected me to have abandoned this – I nearly had, indeed. I hope ****to surprise**** you all with ****this brand new update****.**

**The lyrics belong to Miss Anna-Varney Cantodea, aka Sopor Aeternus. She's an eternal inspiration for me.**

7.- When Lies become Truth

_Now and then I'm scared, when I seem to forget how sounds become words or even sentences ... _

_No, I don't speak anymore and what could I say, since no-one is there and there is nothing to say ... _

_So, I prefer to lie in darkest silence alone ... listening to the lack of light, or sound, or someone to talk to, for something to share ...-_

_but there is no hope and no-one is there.– _

_No, no, no ...- not one living soul and there is nothing (left) to say, in darkness I lie all alone by myself, sleeping most of the time to endure the pain.  
I am not breathing a word, I haven't spoken for weeks and yet the mistress inside me is (secretly) straining her ears. _

_But there is no-one, and it seems to me at times that with every passing hour another word is leaving my mind ... I am the mistress of loneliness, my court is deserted but I do not care. The presence of people is ugly and cold and something I can neither watch nor bear.  
So, I prefer to lie in darkness silence alone, listening to the lack of light, or sound, or someone to talk to, for something to share ...- but there is no hope and no-one is there._

Dead Lovers Sarabande, Sopor Aeternus

So she's here, so close to me… and yet, unreachable, untouchable, the distance between us as deep as the dark gap in that dream she had. For I would never be able to bring myself to touch her, not without her permission, especially not while she is sleeping so innocently, while I watch her body rise and fall with every breath. And yet, it seems so easy… but I would disgust from myself eternally. The thought alone of my cold dead hands upon her fresh warm skin is an abomination **in** itself. So I content myself by merely watching her closed eyelids and wonder in what dreamworld she's in. Probably one where no dark dungeons exist, nor masked madmen. In her dreams she can escape me.

_Now and then I'm scared, when I seem to forget how sounds become words or even sentences ... _

_I am not breathing a word, I haven't spoken for weeks…_

Wouldn't it make her heart stop from shock if she woke up and found me staring at her, eating up her sleeping form with my eyes? I feel not only a pain in my chest by the sight of her, stabbing like a dagger in my heart, but an all too physical, yet very unfamiliar pain as well, further down. A part of my body I had considered dried out and dead ages ago, the most useless part of me, is suddenly demanding attention. I flee the room and leave the porcelain doll alone - far safer than in my presence.

I had not thought I was capable of such desire, the needs for it pushed away and forgotten so long ago. The unfamiliarity with such horror strikes me. What would she be thinking of her 'Angel' if she knew… ?

Her Angel is gone, poor porcelain doll, her dreams shattered… no chance of giving re-birth to the illusion of her Angel again. I must replace the illusion with another one… yes, for the truth would make her as mad as I am. It's very tempting, though, it is, making her as mad as myself… what a pair we would make!

No, as long as the doll is sleeping I brood upon a new illusion to be given to her, a replacement for her angel I so cruelly stole away. There are no mirrors down here, noting to enchant her…. And all too soon she will indeed feel like the fly trapped in my spider web… I shift and shift again my thought, how to ease my angel, my doll, my poor unhappy little fly… it's not like me to have no plans prepared, to just throw myself without thinking in a situation so precarious as this. Curse, curse you Erik, for acting like a love sick puppy again, for not being able to deny her a wish!

""_Take me away from this awful world, Angel, I beg you. I don't want to live here anymore_". She had said, like a fountain of sweet music to my ears "_I want to be with you. All of my heart is with you, Angel, I don't want to be here anymore. Please take me with you_". No monster could ever say no to that. I wish I had been as cold and hard and indifferent as the mirror we were both pressing our faces to, each on another side. I wish I was…

_But there is no-one, and it seems to me at times that with every passing hour another word is leaving my mind…_

And all too soon I'm blinded, dazzled by a flashing white light, whirling in front of me… - it's only she, awokened, in her white gown, her blonde curls as a bright halo around her head. Every inch of her is catching and re-sparkling the light around her, so much she is like a goddess of light in this dark dungeon I call home. I have to close my eyes and turn away from her, it is too bright. I'm used to darkness, not to such unusual rays of light. Not down here… and the thought strikes me that _she doesn't belong here_ and it makes it almost unbearable to look upon her.

And then I began to speak…  
Happiness, her being here… guilt, making her believe in fairytales… deceiving her… promises, not ever to hurt… truthfulness, being her slave, her friend, her admirer… and at long last, explanations, about a dreadful, painful life… excuses for hiding away… confessions about fear of the world above… a speech about loneliness… a plea for understanding… a plea for friendship…

… _I am the master of loneliness, my court is deserted but I do not care. The presence of people is ugly and cold and something I can neither watch nor bear…_

I weave another web, a web of words, before her eyes, into her ears… and hold before her eyes the image of how she must see me, think of me… another mirror and another enchantment, at last. Hide the madman, Erik, hide the madman you are behind a mask of words.

_So, I prefer to lie in darkness silence alone, listening to the lack of light, or sound, or someone to talk to, for something to share ...- but there is no hope and no-one is there…_

Her pretty dollface flashes from anger to indifference to understanding to questions… and all too soon her eyes rest upon the mask… and that remains the only explanation, the only unanswered question… but no trick can work to make her not see the mask. I can't make the mask go away. I'm out of tricks, no more lies to spare, no more truth to confess… I laid my soul before her feet and now I'm empty.

_No, I don't speak anymore and what could I say, since no-one is there and there is nothing to say ... _

All that remains to turn to, is blisful music. And when there are no longer words to share, I can sing. Forever, if I have to.


	8. Come into my Parlour, said Spider to Fly

**A/N. ****Many apologies again for not writing for so long- you know, I study at an Art Acadamey, and (as Art usually does) it absorbs all my time. Holidays? What are those? Is it something one can eat? Life? What is that? Can I pay my rent with it?**

_In einer dunklen Stunde, ach, alle Stunden sind dunkel hier. __Aus einem Becher  
von zartestem Flieder trinken wir Tee allein mit mir…_  
_These words come from the depth of my discontent, to testify to you of the  
displeasure that I harbour against the world; - and therefore myself.  
Hush, here lies truth, sweet child, in all its obvious simplicity._

(…) I am filled all the way up to the brim; filled with sadness, and with misery, and the most terrible of things.  
Very soon I might overflow I fear, as I am filled with so much anger  
and far too many tears…

_**In an Hour Darkly – Sopor Aeternus**_

8. - "Come into my parlour", said the spider to the fly... "I have something here for you"

I am the spider and she is the fly. Hopelessly entangled in my web. How long will this mockery endure, before we both go completely mad? Three days has she been here, three days, with her imprisoner, imprisoned in the same dungeon. I doubt if she can even tell the difference between truth and lies (my lies!) and enchantment and dream anymore. Like a spider I toy with her – and already I had to hurt my poor precious little fly. She learned the unnatural cold touch of my hand around her pretty little wrist when she tried to snatch the mask away – how brave of her! But I am fast and she was too slow to really dare. She didn't even scream… only that dreamy gaze in her eyes suddenly disappeared and was replaced by the realization of where she really was. And with whom.

We spent three days together in a blusful dream of music. We talked, and sang, almost like ordinary people and only _one _question remained unanswered… she didn't understand my cryptic explanations. _"the world is a cruel place for those who are different, my dear… quite unbearable to live in"._ She didn't understand. Horribly innocent as she is.

After three days I had complete power over here, no matter if I sing. She follows me around like a loyal slave… and I feel slightly guilty for poisoning this child with my tricks. She's lost, utterly lost from reality. How wicked I am! In three days I completely unraveled her sense of logic, made her almost as mad as I am, turned her into something I never ment her to be. Poor Christine. Lost in my cobweb of lies. "_Come into my parlour_", said the spider to the fly... "_I have something here for you_"

Friendship. The word suddenly came to my mind. Friendship. Is that what this strange relationship is turning into? A replacement for the love that can never be? She called me a friend today and all I could do was collapse on the floor into the useless bag of bones that I am and cry until the mask was soaked. A friend. Me! She called her pretty boy her friend, so often… does she truly think as highly of me as he? This praise, too high!

But the mask was wet and I had to replace it with another. I locked myself in my room and soothed myself with music. Music is always so comforting… is taking me away… lifting me from reality… _I am filled all the way up to the brim; filled with sadness, and with misery, and the most terrible of things…  
Very soon I might overflow I fear, as I am filled with so much anger  
and far too many tears…_

But it seems she learned yet another skill from me… the skill of lies! Because surely if I were a friend she wouldn't betray me the way she did… from a friend one doesn't take away the object most important to them… if I truly was her friend she would no longer care about a little imperfection from my side, my one excentricity… this time her little hand was quicker than mine. She has learned, after all. She has learned a lot. Her screaming was unbearable to me. She kept on screaming and screaming until I began to scream back.

And then we both truly turned insane. And all the castles we built in the sky crashed down on top of us.

When she started to cry and call for her Angel of Music to come back, to save her from the monster, only then I realized the wicked thing I had done with her sanity. But what must a poor monster do with a sobbing child on his carpet? Surely the spider would've known what to do, but flies don't sob! So to restore the harmony I began to sing again. She stopped crying and looked up… looked me directly in the eye! "_Hush, here lies truth, sweet child, in all its obvious simplicity."_

As long as I sing she can look at me. That's the true magic. That's the greatest trick. She even faintly smiled. "_Come into my parlour_", said the spider to the fly... "_I have something here for you_".


	9. Alleine zu Zweit Together Alone

9. Alleine zu Zweit (Together Alone)

**I am so sorry again for abandoning my story for so long. Life demanded all my attention. But Erik kept banging on the inside of my head, screaming to write him. If I don't fulfill his wish my head ****will explode. Or so he threatens. My apologies to you all. Also some apologies for language-mistakes… I didn't ask my beta to correct me this time.**

_At the end of Truth_

_At the end of Light_

_At the end of Love_

_At the end. There are You_

… _and with every day of 'we' the lie of our love grew_

…_and the further we travelled our path together_

_the further we drifted apart_

_(Lacrimosa – Alleine zu Zweit)_

Now I've been fair to her, haven't I? Now the box with secrets- my Pandora's box- is empty. She knows now the reason why I'm down here… and no more answers are there to give. But my curious little doll has displayed a new talent, one of endlessly coming up with new questions.

_Why am I here…. how long will you keep me here… what will you do to me_… Really, such things are so unimportant, I do not even bother to answer them. Surely, the only importance is that she's here, with me! She must try to understand that…

"_The world above is not important here_" I try to explain her. "_Time is not important here. So why bother about_ when _you will return… return to something that's not important? All that matters is the world down below… my world! The world I created for you!_" In return I completely fail to understand why she began to cry when I told her this. A world all for yourself… who wouldn't want that?

She has showed another talent: one for making me speechless. ….. me! I was utterly lost for words. She asked if I would take of the mask again… because the mask frightened her more as my face. "_Poor Erik, oh poor Erik_" she whispered. Which is, of course, complete nonsense, because I am a lot of things –spider, angel, enchanter of dreams, architect of mirrored worlds-… but I am definitely not poor. My rooms are very richly furnished, over the past years I collected the most rare and excentric objects from all corners of the world to decorate my dungeons. She must be blind. My ugliness must've made her blind. Poor Christine! My cursed ugliness must have damaged her sight, so now she doesn't even notice how beautiful my rooms are. What a waste of all these candles, if she doesn't need light anymore. So when she asked me to take of my mask, as an answer I began to put out all the candles. This seemed to distress her, she began to panic again. "_Erik, I'm afraid of the dark… please make some light"._ I heard a sob in her plea. "_Dear Christine, would you please_ … I was very sarcastic here… _make up your mind and decide what it is you want. I just took off my mask, like you asked. If you want me to make light, I have to put it on again"_

This made her so confused, she was silent for a long time. In the dark I began to sing again, and this calmed her. Calmed her enough to endure the darkness. With a few songs I taught her to master her fear. We've spent the rest of the day in darkness.

We ate together, in darkness. We made music together, she singing, I at my piano, in darkness. I told her some stories… in the dark, dark darkness. We talked for a long time… we talked, yes we talked, like ordinary people… but in total darkness. I even dared to make a few jokes, and she even dared to laugh.. but all in complete, total, vast darkness. As long as she couldn't see me, she seemed to enjoy this little game. I crept among my furniture like a bodiless shadow, making no sounds to move, but playing the perfect entertainer. She mostly sat still in the same chair and just listened. I crawled up behind her and gave sudden whispers in her ear, which made her squeak, then even giggle. She was afraid, and yet she seemed to… enjoy her fear. I heard her heart hammer in her throat when I made her squeak again, and yet she… she really seemed to like this game.

It's the angel, that does this to her. It's all his fault. She was pretending she was with her angel again. Or at first I suspected so. But then I realized…. When she finally cobbled together in her pretty little head Erik really is her 'angel' … she began to trust me. To trust Erik. This, in return, confused me. To be trusted is another strange sensation I have yet to master.

But a triumph is mine: if she finally understands that her angel, the strange man in the mask, the ugly face and 'poor poor Erik' are one person, I don't have to fear for her sanity anymore.

This game endured until she wished to sleep. I made light in her room, and oh! another disaster, … the time we spent so joyfully the past day was soon forgotten with a new chapter of horror in our little story…. I had forgotten to put the mask back on. I hadn't worn it for hours. Stupid Erik! How could I forgot… fool that I am! As soon as I lit a few candles, a total change in her behavior occurred. I noticed immediately, her sudden nervousness, her eyes cast away, her voice slightly altered… but a few long seconds I didn't even realize why. The horror the candles revealed…. it seemed she had totally forgotten it in the past few hours…! And then, suddenly… my face, right in front of her… me, unmasked, in her room! The very thought of it! What a hummiliating way to end such a lovely day… I crept away, like a beaten dog, only able to whisper a hoarse apology, before I slammed the door in her face.


End file.
